“I think we’re all eager to get home to bed,” he said after taking another sip of his expensive brandy. His body was engineered for alcohol tolerance, even though there were days when he wished he could get good and drunk. There were other ways to forget the world for a while, if he wished. But then he’d seen people who used electric stimulation to pleasure themselves. They eventually gave up on the real world. “Shall we move right to the point?”
“The king’s spending bill is unacceptable,” Harrison said. “And it is quite beyond any suitable modification.”
“He’s bursting out of his britches,” Duke Rudbek snapped. “That bill is . . . outrageous.”
“His father would certainly never have tried to force us to lend our assent to . . . to something that would ruin us,” Duchess Zangaria agreed. “How many of us can really afford to keep paying wartime taxes?”
“We would certainly be better off not paying them,” Peter said. “Falcone has been pushed to the limits over the last five years.”
He looked from one to the other, trying not to feel inferior. Duke Rudbek might be rude and crude, but there was a sharp mind behind his flabby face, while Duchess Zangaria had always made him nervous. She was old enough to be his grandmother, yet she ruled her corporation with a rod of iron. She’d certainly never shown any signs of losing her grip, even as her heirs grew increasingly impatient for real power. Peter knew, all too well, that he didn’t enjoy anywhere near as much support from his family. Too many of his relatives wanted to build their own power bases now that their former leader was dead.
At least they’re not plotting to knife me in the back, he thought. Not yet anyway.
“He’s a young man,” Duchess Zangaria said. “Young and foolish and determined to make his mark on the galaxy.”
“Then let him fund his plans from the Royal Corporation,” Duke Rudbek sneered.
Janet Brisket leaned forward. “Can he hope to fund his plans from the Royal Corporation?”
“Not unless he’s found a whole new way of making money,” Peter said. The Royal Corporation was large, and it had guaranteed contracts from the government, but it wasn’t that large. There was no way the king could fund everything he wanted from the corporation’s revenues, even if he funneled all the profits into the budget. “The trustees would lynch him if he tried.”
“Sounds like a reasonable solution,” Duke Rudbek muttered.
Harrison cleared his throat. “What are the odds of the bill being passed?”
A brown-haired young woman, sitting at the far end of the table, looked up nervously. Peter felt a flicker of droll understanding, and sympathy. The poor girl would be highly qualified in her field, of course, but nothing could have prepared her for attending a meeting with so many high-ranking people. She simply lacked the power to make her voice heard easily.
Except she’s one of the best political analysts in the world, he thought, pulling up her file on his datapad. The woman, Pamela Collins, had a distinguished record of making accurate political predictions. He couldn’t help wondering why she’d signed up with Israel Harrison and the Opposition. A record like that could have led her to far greater heights. Maybe she believes in their cause.
Pamela coughed. “On the face of it, the bill has very little chance of being accepted in toto,” she said. “The taxation issue alone will not find favor with anyone, save perhaps for MPs who believe that the big corporations will be the ones paying the tax. They will argue, and they will have a point, that the general public will not be paying anything directly. However, the indirect effects—corporations cutting back, job losses, and suchlike—will have a major impact on their constituents. The smarter MPs will not want to be in a position where they can be blamed for a sudden increase in unemployment.”
“Except unemployed people can’t vote,” Duke Rudbek said.
Pamela colored and looked down. “That is not wholly accurate, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “It is true that the franchise is purchased by the Voting Tax, but there is a fixed amount that unemployed people can pay if they wish to retain their vote. Even if they do not, they will still have the vote until they fail to pay the tax at the start of the next tax year. There will be a period, around six to nine months, when a considerable number of newly unemployed people will have the vote. And yes, they may retain it during the next tax year.”
“And they will be demanding recall elections if their MPs let them down,” Harrison said. “What will that do to our politics?”
“It will make them more poisonous,” Pamela said. “The unemployed, and desperate, will demand concessions the MPs will be quite unable to grant.”
She took a breath, then went on. “That said, the king may be able to make deals with a number of people in both Houses of Parliament. There are people who will benefit from the bill, and he can count on their support—or trade horses with them until they agree to support it. At that point . . . we’ll be in uncharted waters.”
“And we have to decide how far we’re prepared to go to resist,” Duchess Zangaria commented. “Can he tax us without our consent?”
“He can certainly find ways to pressure us,” Peter pointed out. “The orbital towers are controlled by the government, for example, along with the StarComs. He can use them as leverage to make us submit.”
“Which would spark off a real crisis,” Janet Brisket said. “Do we have any reason to believe he’s prepared to go so far?”
Harrison looked at Pamela, who winced. “His opening speech did not admit of much, if any, maneuvering room,”
